


The Templar, the Mayor, and the Maleficar

by Bloogerstien



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 12:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6804970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloogerstien/pseuds/Bloogerstien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new Sheriff from the Templar Order arrives in Herald's Rest. The Mayor isn't so happy with this development.</p><p>The gruff sheriff is on a hunt for the almost mythical maleficar haunting Herald's Rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Herald's Rest

Dust settled over worn but clean boots, spurs catching and reflecting the abundant sunlight the wide blue sky provided. With a metallic clank the heavy prop sunk into the ground, the loud roar of the metallic horse groaned to a halt. With a practiced swing, the man cleared the seat, setting his sights down the two lane street. Like the dossier stated: the town was small formed by little more than two main roads converging in the center. The simple wooden buildings were stained in a yellow tint from layers of caked sand.   
  
Two-bit town. Dragging a cigarette from his pockets, he placed the stick in his mouth lighting it with a flick of a match. A deep breath later, and Cullen was ready to begin.   
  
His amber eyes flickered between the buildings, and the people watching him. Most were scowling. Children being held back by worried mothers, who all wore creased frowns. School children peered through the dusty windows, silently watching his arrival cowering when his gaze lingered. The horses tied outside the buildings snorted, still on edge from the loud roar of the bike.   
  
His free hand swept from his holster to fish out a gold pocket watch attached to his center button. The Mayor was late, and he did not appreciate late. The man clipped up the wooden steps, surveying the town at a closer angle making use of his extra time while waiting for this Mayor Trellier. Coming to the edge of the wooden paneling he pivoted, deciding against moving too far from the meeting point. Several rounds later a dappled mare trotted into view, the rider- another woman- apologized profusely.  
  
“I do apologize for being late, Mr. Rutherford,” the red-headed woman spoke in a huff, dismounting from her noble beast. “Some ignorant rider spooked my horse on the ride in, a motorcycle in the mountains. The stupidity.”  
  
The man frowned from beneath his black wide-brimmed hat, “Apologies aren't necessary ma'am, just get me where I need to go.”   
  
“Oh well, I was expecting one-,” tutting at his lacking manners, “follow me, Ser.”  
  
The woman turned sharply on her heel, the cream dress floating out behind her. This lady looked like a proper dandy; waist cinched tight, and the dress was dragging in the dirt. The matching cream and laced lined shawl clasped tightly around her throat. Her large white hat adorned with silk flowers flapped at the edges with the breeze. Her white gloves daintily holding a parasol against her left shoulder. He assumed the lady before him was a secretary or part of some town welcoming committee. He had time for neither.   
  
He wanted rest and to finish his cigarette in peace. Not to be flirted with by a pair of big green eyes, and fancy clothing.   
  
“So what do you think of Herald's Rest so far, Mr. Rutherford?” The lady asked two steps into their journey.  
  
“No much to see,” Cullen drawled, puffing on his cigarette,”I reckon I will not have much to do here.”  
  
The lady coughed, “No, there is not much need for the law here. We manage well enough on our own. We certainly do not need a Templar.”  
  
“Ma'am,” already his voice grew coarse, “While I appreciate your concern, I was assigned to this town on mounting evidence of maleficarum, 'We' take our role seriously, now if you would kindly escort me to your Mayor so you can return to your...whatever it is you do.”  
  
The woman whirled, stopping in the middle of the central intersection of town, “Who do you think I am?”  
  
The man grunted, “I don't know nor do I care. Some lonely lady hoping to get an edge on the new Sherrif because judging by her age has chased away all the men in town.” He had been through this play before in every town it was the same setup.  
  
“My cats are engaging company, Ser,” she spoke mirthfully.  
  
 Continuing her crisp walk without a cross word or thought in his direction. Cullen was forced to jog a few steps to catch up with the woman as she ascended the steps to the next boardwalk between the buildings. Pausing at the double door that led to the Mayor's office.  
  
“Please, ma'am, I do not wish to ask again. Take me to the mayor; he was supposed to meet me in the center of town- if this is how this town has already-” Cullen fumbled to a stop. Growling as the lady once again impeded his progress. Green eyes studying him with disdain.  
  
“Then do not let me waste your precious time, I am Lady Mayor Guinevere Trellier.” Guinevere offered out her gloved hand, waiting for the Templar to get up to speed.   
  
The fine scar of his lip curled, amber eyes showing his displeasure, “Good joke, but you are too young and a woman.” Refusing the hand entirely.  
  
The lady raised an eyebrow, lips pursing, “I am either too old or too young. I cannot be both Mr. Cullen Rutherford, Captain of the 3rd Division in the Templar Knights. Sent to Herald's Rest because of the mentioned 'maleficarum' along with the increased threat of bandits because of the Railroad headed for my humble town. Which, correct me if I misspeak, the mayor -me- opposed the assignment of yet another Sheriff in my capable town.”  
  
“The dreaded Mayor Trellier, who has run off at least three Templars and one mysteriously, went missing, all during your brief tenure as Mayor,” Cullen huffed. She had him pinned, for now, no wonder why his assignment papers had not mentioned the Mayor's entire name.   
  
“We don't cause trouble, and the Templar Order seems to enjoy their heavy-handed submission of the law. Someone must protect my town from the ones who would abuse it.”   
  
“No wonder a maleficar has chosen this area to settle, you likely welcomed them in with open arms,” Cullen retorted.  
  
“A near mythical people to be hunting now, don't you think? But wait, the government does love to waste funding,” Guinevere replied snidely, opening the door to her office.  
  
“Or we must be doing our job if you are so unlikely to hear of such scum, you should be thankful.”  
  
“I doubt I will be,” Guinevere muttered. Holding the door open for the man to pass through first, trotting passed him once he was inside. Wheezing into her fist along the way to the large desk.   
  
Cullen lapsed into silence as the Mayor rifled through her drawers, seeking the key that unlocked the Sherriff's office that lay kitty corner from her office. “Mr. Rutherford, you will find that the people here do not tolerate rough handed techniques. Slurs, or particularly vulgar language. As a rule in relation to your habits, smoking is prohibited in all buildings but the saloon. Unless there are children or gentle ladies within.”  
Indicating the cigarette than hung from lips with a flick of her eyebrows.   
  
He scowled deeply, spitting the cigarette from him lips squashing it with the heel of his boot. Maintaining complete eye contact through the grinding of his butt into the wooden floor of her office. The mayor returned to sifting through her drawer, spinning the key around her finger as she found the metal object.  
  
“There also exists noise regulations, so watch how late you are riding that thing in town,” speaking flippantly as she stomped by the Templar opening the door for him. “I can offer you a horse.”  
  
“No. Absolutely not,” he growled, arms folding across his chest.  
  
“What can I do against the law-” Guinevere waived it away dismissively. “Now, if I can show you to your office. I have work to finish, Mr. Rutherford.”  
  
A second later the man had not budged, and the mayor allowed the door close on him, cantering down the five steps it took to reach the road beneath them. The jingling behind her meant the new Sheriff had decided to follow after her; she was not too proud to hightail herself across the street. Powering up the opposite set of stairs in doubles cracking open the door before the man reached her. This time, the Templar decided to take the door opened for him.   
  
The jail was simple, with three rooms. One sectioned off and private, a bedroom for the new Sheriff to live in, nestled in the back. The two cells sat on opposite wall while a large desk rested in the center of the room, facing the doorway to greet any visitors. Cullen placed his hat on the desk, running a hand through his barely contained golden curls.   
  
“This will do.”  
  
“I am glad the accommodations are to your liking. The stagecoach is scheduled to arrive tomorrow, and on time, I can give you the tour of town then after you have settled.”  
  
“Hopefully, on time,” Cullen drawled.   
  
“Yes, well. Hopefully, tomorrow brings about a better day,” unsure of the nature of the comment. Guinevere was sure it was a jab at her tardiness. “Good day, Ser.”


	2. You're Late

The stagecoach arrived in a plume of smoke, exactly on time. A minute later, the loud motorcycle had still not roared back into town. Two minutes later, and the driver was beginning to look impatient. First, he checked the Sheriff's office- no one was there. His second destination sent him jaunting across the intersection, set on the Mayor's open door.  
  
Guinevere rose from her desk, exiting the building before the driver was forced to climb another set of stairs. The man's face was already turning red from exertion.  
  
“I'm sorry, Ser. The Sheriff must be out of office.”  
  
“I'll be late,” the driver exclaimed, wagging a pocket watch in her face.  
“Ser, I could open his office if you would like,” Guinevere offered.  
  
“I would allow it, but there is this beast in the coach- I don't know why someone would send such a beast with me! The drool will take me hours to clean, alone!” The heavy set man continued to huff.  
  
“Beast?” Guinevere questioned.   
  
Her curiosity was piqued, without permission, she moved toward the stagecoach. Tilting her head to catch sight of this 'beast' the driver was so terribly upset about. But the horses and cart were silent. Ambling cautiously closer she peered in through the window unable to see anything beast-like.  
  
 _Wham_. The mayor squeaked.   
  
The trolley shook with a loud bark. The creature's paws pressed against the glass of the door, standing tall in the cramped space he was forced to occupy.  
  
“Oh! It's a Mabari!”Guinevere gushed. “This beast is a noble creature!”  
  
“Whatever you say, ma'am.”  
  
“Please, I'll watch him until his owner returns. How much do you have to deliver?”  
  
“One suitcase.”  
  
“One?”  
  
“Yes, one.”  
  
Guinevere released the Mabari from his cage; the dog rushed in large circles around the mayor the tongue lopping out happily of his massive jaws. The black and white patched creature came to a sudden stop after three circles trouncing up happily to the woman who had freed him. Guinevere was more than happy to pat the creature's side- awaiting the man's fumbling at the receipt.  
  
“This is over triple the usual price,” Guinevere scoffed.  
  
“I'm giving you a bargain for this creature!” The small man whined.  
  
“This is robbery, Ser!”  
  
“I'll take the creature, and see that this town never gets service again!,” The man was turning red.  
  
“Now, no need to jump the gun. I'll pay that way you needn't be much later.” This wasn't the end of the conversation; the company would soon be getting a letter about this foul little man.   
  
After paying the coachman, the mayor waited patiently with the Mabari leaning his shoulder into her thigh. Stroking the dog's soft fur to pass her time: after waiting another five minutes the man was nowhere to been seen, or heard.  
  
“Hopefully on time, he says. Like I am the problem here,” Guinevere mocked aloud to the dog, “I'm too young, I'm too old. Your mean owner can't bother to show up for his noble dog?”  
  
The Mabari barked, agreeing.   
  
“Well, this is going to take a while. Do you want a treat?”  
  
The beast's stumpy tail wagged furiously. His head tilted.  
  
“Please, stay here. Mister Somer will have a fit if I bring you into his shop. Rawhide or biscuits?”  
  
The animal barked twice at biscuits at her repeat of his options, so Guinevere took that as what he preferred. The grocer handed over the treats with only a curious look, and she returned to the Mabari. As asked he had waited patiently for her to return. He sat, with only his table bobbing back and forth in anticipation for his treats.  
  
“Seems Mr. Rutherford was blessed with an excellent companion, I would sure like to see how you can deal with him,” Guinevere confided in the dog. He mostly happily munched at the treats Guinevere was generous in giving, so he would ignore her that was fine. If all went to plan she would not need to see the dog much longer, the new sheriff would not last long. The last two lasted less than two weeks; he was not a challenge.   
  
The roar of the motorbike had finally graced the main street of Herald's Rest, kicking up plumes of dust behind the machine. The clearing dust revealed an unhappy Templar, his hand running through his hair that rebelled against the hold of the gel.  
  
“You're late.”  
  
His eyes hardened, looking to her with a scowl. Guinevere was lucky that day, as the Mabari barreled for the man all of the dog's fluff propelled himself toward the Sheriff. The man smiled as the dog lavished him with warm and wet licks, an expression the Mayor was already sure the man could not manage. But it all came crashing to an end as he forced the Mabari from him.  
  
“I suppose that makes us even, although my tardiness was due to wrong directions rather than blatant carelessness.”  
  
That was the man she had pegged him for.  
  
“Well, Mr. Rutherford, I am willing to ignore our impasse if you would be so kind. I suppose you have much settling to do before the day is over, let me walk you through the town.” Guinevere motioned down the street, an eyebrow propped.  
  
“If it will allow me to return to my duties quicker,” grumbled Cullen.  
  
“I'm certain you are already busy,” the statement not quite achieving the tone she preferred. Friendly, but not er-welcoming was her desired mode. Instead, she had brushed on sarcasm.   
  
“What?”  
  
“South of the Jailhouse is the grocery store, run by Mr. Somer. The post office is attached to a smaller room inside the grocer if he does not have something he can have it ordered. The future train station is just down the street, across the street from Mr. Somer's is the Livery, doubling as the Blacksmith, a Ms. Halbert.” Guinevere began, pointing to each building as she mentioned it. Ultimately waving off his question.  
  
For now, the man listened. Fishing a white carton from the pocket of his vest, a yellow-tipped stick placed on his lips. Hands fishing for something in the pocket of his pants.   
  
“Now, if you would follow me,” motioning to the right, but ultimately starting off without him, “The Banker, Ms. Mona Guerra runs the building. You have a door attached to the bank if the need arises, just the same key that opens the jailhouse. The Doctor, Mr. Dirkx is next door to that.”  
  
The drag of a match caught her attention, the flicker of light ending in a trail of smoke.  
  
The mayor cleared her throat, “Mr. Rutherford.”  
  
Cullen's golden eyes focused on the red-headed woman, mouth freezing in place. His lips turned into a tight snarl, flicking the fag to the ground. It bounced from the boardwalk to the dusty street below. Guinevere was not a creature so easily goaded into a reaction- rather there was a peace offering. A simple candy atop a stick wrapped in a plain white paper. A huff and the treat was swiped away with a defining growl. The candy was between his lips in an instant.   
  
“Across the street is the Land office, who also doubles as the lawyer if you are in need. The diner is next to that. The Church doubles as the school. Service is on Sundays, and the middle of the week if you are interested. The times are posted.” Guinevere explained until she stopped in front of the bank's door. Waiting briefly for any questions, but he was silent.  She led them across the street, waving at the woman busily bustling tables. “The school is run by Mr. Harter; we do like to enforce our truancy policy with a firm yet gentle stick.”  
  
“Not harshly enough,” muttered Cullen.  
  
Guinevere shot him a questioning look until the boards creaking reached her ears. Turning slowly to eye Mr. Rutherford's observations on the town's disciplinary skills. A boy only about eight years old stalked confidently away from the school, with no apparent means to stop his progression to unknown pastures.  
  
“Henry, what are we doing out of school?”  
  
The boy paused, but only nodded at the mayor. His gaze fixed on the Templar, the corner of his mouth fixed in a frown.   
  
“Truancy is punishable, why don't you return to class as the lady said-”  
  
“Pa says to never talk to your type,” the boy stated, “I ain't talkin' to you.”   
  
“Now Henry-” Guinevere began to admonish.  
  
Henry cleared his throat and began to bolt. But not before hurling a large wad of spit and mucus at the sheriff's shoe. Guinevere began to scream after the boy, but he was already slipping between buildings and out of sight.  
  
“This isn't-wasnt-” Guinevere's words came crashing to a halt as she stumbled over her words.  
  
Cullen was silent. His glower, although not meant for her, made her feel as if trapped by an angry beast. An angry beast she was quickly feeling pity for, just the tiniest smidgen or pity: but it was there. No, no- it was rather an expectation. The man may not appreciate their small township, but she would not have him leaving thinking they were inhospitable. They should be the shining jewel of manners and politeness. Little Henry would soon get a visit from the Mayor about his behavior it could not stand.  
  
Standing would not change things now, the tour of town needed to continue. With no more than a nod she had the man in tow once again, leading him to the street and passed her office. Guinevere stopped to mention the Saloon briefly; that headlined the best, and only, hotel in town.   
  
“So, are there actually any men in this town?”  
  
The Sheriff's question surprised her; he had finally decided to speak again once they were crossing over one of the two bridges that crossed the river.   
  
“No, I mean yes.”  
  
Cullen returned to silence an eyebrow cocked.  
  
“They are all gone working on the railroad, or cattle ranching. Well, most of them. The Doctor and the Teacher are notable exceptions,” she explained, waving her left hand in a circle.  
  
“No wonder your town is in trouble,” he stated dryly.  
  
“Mr. Harter and Dr. Dirkx? Maker forbid they even know which end of a gun to point at a man,” she giggled at the thought, “Us women-folk can take care of ourselves, Mr. Rutherford.”  
  
“Surely, you must have some inkling of the problems threatening 'your' town. Three bandit attacks in the last month alone, patterns in the brush indicating maleficarum.”  
  
“We are still standing, Ser.”  
  
“Suspiciously.”  
  
“Granted we do have civilized gun laws, as most communities do, we can and will defend ourselves. Guns are allowed only in case of violence, and in the home. We are not stupid.” Guinevere shook her head dismissively.   
  
“With no lives lost? Whoever is commanding your forces must be placed over the Templar order, it would do our country a great service,” dry words.  
  
“Well, I will let the women know of your kind words.”  
  
“Ms. Trellier, it is very suspicious. You can't comprehend the seriousness this threat poses.”  
  
“Comprehend? Tell me, do you think I am stupid, or naive?” Her hand spread over her chest, and bottom lip pouted at the block-headed man.  
  
“Foolish. You must know this character- I am convinced. You can drag this out if you wish, I can have you arrested for hampering my investigation,” his throat clearing. Arms folded across his chest, his breaths deepening in his subconscious attempt to intimidate her.   
  
“Do so; I dare you. But I guarantee that I, or any other in this town can help you in finding this phantom you are chasing,” her words edged on venom, “make enemies of us all if you wish I will not stop you.”  
  
“Make enemies? You mean continue to live under the prejudiced your town has already set for me? Pray tell, who has convinced this town to fear me already? You can scoff at me all you like for my tardiness, but know it was only caused by poor directions to the cemetery,” the man's volume edged up with each word.  
  
“I'm sure they were just charmed by your ever present and pleasant scowling,” quipped Guinevere, hardening herself against his anger.  
  
The man's beautiful amber eyes rolled, arms if possible tightening over his chest. “Or encourage into further rudeness. I have never seen such an unfriendly town in my life.”  
  
Guinevere let out a short laugh. “Never have I seen a man so unwilling to be friendly, or careless with his manners.”  
  
The Templar growled.   
  
The Mayor decided it was time to move away from the bridge, and into the rows of houses where most of the residents lived. Guinevere continued like their short spat had not happened, it was easier that way. Her revenge -more plots- were easier to construct when she was uninterrupted.  Two houses down and she took a left, repeating the process one more time as she pointed out the houses and listed the inhabitants. Guinevere had to play this game well, and some information needed to be surrendered. At least he remained silent.   
  
Much to her disappointment, another was outside of their house. It wasn't the matter of being outside, but who had decided to leave their house at the most inopportune moment.   
  
Janice had was her closest friend and confidant in Herald's Rest. A petite elf with mouse brown hair and expressional brown eyes flecked with gold. Janice was the person who could reason with Guinevere through her most energetic and thoughtless moments, encouraging her to think. Janice was almost always silent, and hid behind fragile doe eyes. Pulling a loose strand behind her long ear, the elf pulled Guinevere into a tight hug.  
  
“Guinevere!”  
  
“Janice!” Guinevere returned, kissing the elf's left cheek.  
  
Cullen's stare was still a knife in her bad, threatening to lodge into her spine.   
  
“Mr. Rutherford, this is my dearest friend, Janice,” introducing the two while backing out of the embrace. Guinevere still stood between the two, blocking Cullen's offer of a handshake to the elf. Green eyes met amber before she relinquished her blockade.  
  
“It's a pleasure,” his voice honey, obnoxiously, “I believe you were formerly engaged to a Mr. Johnson?”  
  
His eyes flickered lower, taking in her rounded belly.   
  
“Now, Mr. Rutherfo-”  
  
“No, Lady Mayor. It is quite alright,” Janice soothed, sharing a brief look between them, “you are correct, Ser.”  
  
Guinevere took her turn in folding her arms tightly, her fingers tapping rapidly against the flesh of her upper arm. Concentrating on the slight micro-expressions she could judge between the two, mouth fixed in a harsh frown, this was not in Guinevere's plan. Janice was to be protected and not let into his line of fire.  
  
“I do not mean to cause you undue pain, or discomfort with your present situation. But can you tell me anything that might help me find who killed him? Who had a grudge against him?”  
  
Janice's lower lip trembled, “Ask any of the women who he had strung out behind him.”  
  
“I-,” the man rubbed the back of his neck, “I wasn't aware he had been unfaithful.”  
  
Janice's eyes bolted to Guinevere, seeking out the silent support of her friend. The Mayor's eyes also lowered, fingers turning white as she now clung to her arms. The Templar quick enough to notice the silent exchange between friends.   
  
“He was a two-faced man, sweet; until he did not get his way. Not long after he found out I was with child did he run off with half of the town,” Janice choked out the words. Holding the bitterness behind a sullen frown. Guinevere conveniently looked away, pretending to find something of interest in a distant tree.   
  
“Ah,” the Templar's only reply to an increasingly awkward conversation. He had pegged this mystery as over. The town was hiding much more than a malificarum. “That's all I need for now, thank you for your time.”  
  
Janice nodded, wiping away tears as she retreated into her house.   
  
Cullen was not the only one to witness a situation evolve in an unexpected way. So the Templar could be gentle, why did he not act that way when he had arrived? Guinevere would still not have trusted the man, but it would have made this situation marginally more pleasant. Releasing her arms from her tight grip, she urged them on further.   
  
“No lecture for me?” Cullen asked with a hint of amusement, “or are you defeated?”  
  
Guinevere rolled her eyes, unhappy in the reversal of roles.  
  
The woman continued with her tour of the houses, but at a faster pace. She was quite sure he would not catch all of the names, but it was quite time for this adventure to be over with. She had a job to return to and several people to please. Being the Mayor, enforcer, and peacekeeper took up all of the time she could spare and often stole from other areas of her life.  
  
The pair came to the second bridge that separated the residential and commercial lots in town. Just a few yards south was the Firehouse, connected to the river for a source of water to fight any fires that might befall the town. South of that lay the courtroom, church, and finally back to her office located in Townhall.  
  
“If you must know, the cemetery is down that path,” Guinevere pointed to a small trail that led east, “I trust you can find your way home from here.”


	3. Of Doctors and School Teachers

“Your blood pressure is good, if not a little higher than I like to see,” the doctor, something Dirkx continued in his a Tevene accent, “As is your temperature, but accounting for your recent withdrawal from lyrium, I was expecting worse.”  
  
It could get worse? The thought had him smirking.  
  
  
The doctor continued his speech, “But withdrawal can go south, and quickly. You must not hesitate to contact me if that is the case. You are aware of my residence should that happen?”  
  
“Yes, my introduction to town was quite sufficient,” Cullen picked the words carefully, he had another agenda that the man didn't need to be alerted to prematurely. Having someone on his side in this town was starting to seem like a better idea. But the credit was going to the mayor for that idea, no it was all his.   
  
“Is this your first attempt at sobriety?”  
  
The question Cullen had dreaded the most.  
  
“No, there was one other attempt. Years ago,” The Templar couldn't look him in the eye. The first time saying it out loud made it even more pathetic. Sure, he was younger then, full of ideals and hope, to be crushed as he could not resist the blue liquid. Things would be easier now if he had not failed.  
  
“What made you return to lyrium?” Dirkx asked, jotting down notes.  
  
“It's hard to get promoted in the Templar ranks without taking lyrium,” ghosting over his failures with excuses. It was easier than talking about the dreams that haunted his sleep, or the shattering anxiety the drug shielded him from. “I do have a vial at my disposal should I need it. Though I doubt that it should be necessary.”  
  
The doctor did not take the bait, “Hopefully, it will not come down to that.” Offering a smile at the Templar, “We are done here. Unless you have any other concerns to discuss with me.”  
  
“You'll be sure to send the paperwork to my superiors?” half of the sentence muffled by the Sheriff shuffling the shirt back over his head.   
  
“I'll send it in the post before I open.”  
  
Cullen nodded, pushing himself off of the doctor's bench but slowly. Hesitating with the words he wanted to express. It took him long enough for Dirkx to grow curious and notice his anxious retreat, “Do you have anything else?”  
  
“It is business related,” Cullen warned, his hand resting on the door handle. Watching Mr. Harter arrive at school through the window.  
  
“What did you need, Mr. Rutherford?” The lean man straightened his posture, setting down his pencil. His feet pointed at the sheriff, but his arms crossed over his chest. Defensive. Cullen didn't need to turn around to sense the change. This might not be the ally he was seeking.  
  
“I am wondering why I was assigned to this town, nothing is happening. I was brought here because my help was requested, but I see nothing worth my time here,” Cullen explained in an even tone. It was a quiet town, with some of its own drama. Maybe a maleficar but nothing that he was warranted a Templar presence in the hamlet. The mayor was the largest concern he saw, but then again the men weak enough to be chased away was a reflection on their constitution. Not the town as a whole problem.  
  
“I requested that a Templar be stationed here.”  
  
Dirkx's confession was an honest surprise.  
  
“Who was the other?” The news had Cullen turning on his heel, his brow furrowing.   
  
Dirkx's threw out his hands, “I didn't know anyone but me had requested help. Though it would not surprise me that the investors for the Railroad wanted their future investments secured.”  
  
“Did this have anything to do with the previous sheriff, Mr. Johnson?” Something wasn't sitting right with that situation. Janice had only provided him with more questions. Along with the feeling that he should stay out of it, but he wasn't listening to that.  
  
“Maker no,” Dirkx arms returned the crossed position, his backside leaning against the bench, “He was a cruel and immoral man in the end. He deserved his fate. Mr. Johnson threatened many women and assaulted one. But my reason for calling on the Templars was not that- Like many other frontier towns we suffer from frequent bandit attacks that have only increased because of the railroad. Now that we have some maleficar prowling our forests I am worried for our mayor.”  
  
“For someone who cares for their Mayor, you sure don't mind going against her wishes,” mirth was in Cullen's words.   
  
“I'm sure Ms. Trellier knows of my role,” Dirkx said with a smile, arms unfolding to rest at his side, “but the young Mayor has taken more than enough punches for the town several times over.”  
  
Cullen conceded on that topic, satisfied yet perplexed, “Murder is still murder. I need to see the record of the victim to find the killer.”  
  
Any ground he had gained with the doctor was pulled out from under his feet at the man's demeanor shifted, a lip curled and a nostril flared, “No, I cannot. As part of my oath, I cannot. I will need a signed warrant, first.”  
  
When did this town's blockade end? Cullen thought he was finally making real progress. Now that was completely smashed, and over a paper that would take a week to arrive. Yes, it was due process, but the authority of the law did not leave many to impede his way with such trivial matters. Or was it because a certain Mayor was involved? Wherever her name turned up, much less herself, there was bound to be trouble. Trouble for him. He was done with this office, forcing the door open without a parting word.  
  
And who would just happen to be scuttling across the street into the school building? The sole subject of his ire, one Ms. Guinevere Trellier. He was getting answers.  
  
The cigarette was at his lips, lit but not calming the fire churning inside. Funny, the tobacco would usually do that for him. Boots clacking loudly as the floor boards gave away to his weight, the Mayor turning in time to witness his plunge into the school. Her face painted with a soft scowl, looking unamused as she placed down a package on the teacher's desk. Mr, Harter sunk into the nearest corner, as the approach man's reputation, had far proceeded him.  
  
“Mr. Rutherford, extinguish that cigarette immediately!”Pure courage fanning her will to chastise a man already coming for her with a temper.   
  
Cullen did not have the courage to fight with a woman that was nonplussed by his temper.   
  
The stick thrown smartly into the fireplace, and a sweet awaited his hand in return. The sugar was better at calming his nerves, or so the placebo effect worked.   
  
“Now, what do you need good Ser?” An eyebrow cocked, Cullen swore he saw a smile dash across her face.  
  
“Mr. Johnson, what is your involvement with his death?” The words calmer than his state dictated they would be.  
  
“Nothing, unless wishing him gone makes me liable for murder,” now an amused look stuck to her expression.   
  
Cullen sucked in his bottom lip, using the time to order his thoughts, “I don't believe you. Everything in this town starts and ends with you. If I find-”  
  
“WELL, forgive me for being a politician that cares about their constituents. Didn't know that made me suspect in everything happening.” Interrupting his tirade before it could completely start. Instead, the tirade would be her's, “Unless you want this to turn into another Witch Hunt of Kirkwall. Because your order needs that one again.”  
  
Cullen blanched, “What did you just say?”  
  
“Yes, Mr. Rutherford, I know all about Kirkwall. And the exact part you played. Turning a city into rubble because of one supposed maleficar, pathetic and wasteful of all lives lost. And you want to accuse me of murder?” The mayor scoffed, red staining the pale skin of her neck and cheeks.    
  
The sheriff involuntarily retreated, caressing his neck to soothe his nerves. To ground him from returning to that place. Another thing for the people of this town to hate him for. That she knew so much was alarming, unsettling, shameful.   
  
“I'm not going to say any more on the subject, you should. You should go,” Guinevere turned in a whirl, skirts following behind her, “what I do know is unsubstantial.”   
  
But she had made the mistake of saying something he could latch on to, something to avenge himself on. “Do I need to arrest you for hindering my investigation?”  
  
“Oh, Mr. Rutherford, I am starting to blush at that request,” she tittered, coyly pressing her fingers to her lips, “makes me think you have other intentions implied with that request.”  
  
“Now, La-Mayor Trellier, that is-” Cullen huffed. His cheeks fired in an instant, unable to control the blushing.   
  
“Oh my! Mr. Harter look how red he is! I must have struck a nerve!”  
  
Mr. Harter was wide-eyed, the scrawny man made up on exactly one stick was afraid of the Titans that battled before him. He swayed to the side for a moment before Cullen had removed his attention from the man.  
  
“That is very inappropriate, and you are very unhelpful!” Blowing the first comment that came to his mind, it wasn't at all elegant.  
  
“You're a block-headed man, but I don't go shouting that out.” The hand touched her chest, the innocence of her action just made the blood run hotter.  
  
“May the Maker have mercy on you if I connect his death to you. Your coy attitude will not save you then!” The sheriff harumphed, “And I know you have something to do with it. I should take you in now.”  
  
Guinevere giggled, “Are you just threatening me? Or are you actually going to arrest me? I don't think I can handle the suspense much longer.”  
  
“You'll be lucky if I'm not dragging you out of here by your hair,” Cullen exclaimed. Realizing much too late the folly of his words.  
  
“Mr. Rutherford, please I am a lady and maiden.” She snickered, “I would like to start with a kiss first, but if that is what you require.”  
  
“What! No!” Kissing her? Maker n....yes.   
  
No, No, No. Not that line of thought again. It was only because she was the singularly most annoying, aggravating, frustrating, blood boiling person who just happened to have features that struck him as handsome in a peculiar and strange sort of way. It was tempting purely because she challenged him. Thus she was worthy of a millisecond of his time. Milliseconds she had long ago used up.  
  
“I suppose you aren't the worst looking bloke,” Guinevere continued softly, her eyes focusing on something just over his shoulder.   
  
Giggling, and more giggling. Turning in horror to see the School's door wide open. An entire herd of children in varying degrees of shock and mirth looked up at him. Once his amber eyes settled on them, the group went silent and pressed together, feeling they were safer in a clump. The Mayor's footsteps moved passed him, greeting the children as if nothing had happened.  
  
“Oh, Mr. Harter, be sure to thank Janice for the pie!”   
  
But the Mayor's eyes rested on young Henry, her hands nestling into the boy's mop of brown hair, “Henry, I believe we have something to say privately to Ser Rutherford.”  
  
“Yes, ma'am,” Henry's tone hollow.   
  
“Mr. Rutherford, if you would give me a titch more of your time,” motioning toward the boardwalk. He really had no choice as that was his exit, so whatever this was, was happening.   
  
Guinevere led the boy with a hand on his shoulder. Cullen followed out obediently, shutting the door behind them. It gave him time to rearrange his scowl into a neutral expression, but it would not stop his arms from folding tightly. Looking down at the boy.  
  
“Go on, Henry,” Guinevere urged.  
  
“Mr., Ser,” Henry began with a deep breath, “I am sorry for spitting at you. We do not treat new people in town like that.” The kid kept his glance down, kicking at the ground. It was recited, but a start at feeling sorry for what he had done.   
  
Cullen's gaze wandered to Guinevere, who urged him with a cross look to respond.  
  
'It's all right, kid.” Cullen huffed, in the same forced tone Henry had.   
  
Henry still avoided looking at him, glancing up the Lady Mayor. She grinned in return, fishing a sucker from her dress pocket. Offering it to the boy who did not hesitate to take the treat.   
  
“Now that is settled, back to class Henry.” She gently cooed.  
  
The boy was for once in his young life relieved to go to school. Guinevere cantered away without a word, heading for her office just across the street.  
  
Cullen waited a moment, tongue caressing the sucker in his mouth. There was no possible way the lollipop was meant to reward him for good behavior, too. Right?


	4. Pink

Guinevere loved the moments she could spare either of her two joys in life. Because she could sew clothing in town, it was the hobby she could enjoy more often- well, it was still a rare treat. For a few long moments before she agreed to make the dress she contested whether or not she should focus on such a trivial thing. The Lady Mayor already owed her body a debt of sleep; new business contracts, fights to broker, and a sheriff to keep a firm eye on. Things were already busy enough that she had to hire a local boy to take care of her horses, what else of her precious time could she siphon away? As the thought weighed on her mind, came something selfish: She wanted to make the dress.

The dance was still half a year away- but leave it to Kaylie Somer to desire the most beautiful gown. Leave it to her father to grant any of his dear daughter's desires. Guinevere was the best choice unless he wanted to escort Kaylie out of town every weekend for the newest idea or thing that her dress needed. Mr. Somer did not like leaving his store to his employees for too long. 

Guinevere could not deny her own excitement for the dance. It was nothing likes the ones at home. The swell of music filling of her senses, the crescendo of the violin teetering on a note almost too shrill. The cello would then save the song, adding in a lower and sweet vibration. The hustle of bodies passing round one another, the women in the crowd almost always wore the same fashions with just enough variation to make themselves stand out next to the female beside them. The men never noticed, too busy staring at the divine creatures surrounding them. Feet pounding, sliding, and lifting in tune to the music encompassing the air around them. Stolen glances and kisses in the garden with the Prince all to make the other girls jealous. Dreaming of the one who would one day ask her for the next dance... What a delight and mature thing to partake in. With the rumors swirling behind her of what suitors she could hope to attract. 

That was a lifetime ago. 

Nobody would be asking her for the next dance.

"I think pink-"

Guinevere snapped from the far away dance halls, and back into her office, with Kaylie smoothing over the fabric undercoat. Dressed in little more than scraps of fabric and a petticoat. One they had finally decided on. "Pink? It was red?"

"I think red much to mature-- pink far better compliments my hair and fair features," the girl tutted. Busy hands wandering to fan out blonde locks. The girl was the most flirtatious, granted beautiful, young woman in town. It was hard to find her without a flock of younger girls trying to earn her favor and the tail of young boys that chased after them. "Besides, it is the latest fashion in Val Royeaux and Denerim. I don't expect to see a single lady at the dance without at least a shred of pink!"

"Also, much more suitable for someone your age. It's demure, much more innocent than red."

"Ms. Trellier, you sound like my father," Kaylie admonished heartily.

"With the throngs of you-"

Clack. The door opened, pulling Guinevere with a start from her work, the small needle slipping from her fingers. 

"Ser Rutherford," the mayor cooed gently. Priming for the next severe demand the lawman would make of her.

Kaylie tittered, "Mr. Rutherford! How pleasant it is to see you!" bowing at the man. Quite unphased by her state of undress before the man. Guinevere would have been shocked, saved for knowing the girl well enough.

"Ms. Trellier, Ms. Somer," greeting each in turn with a tip of his hat, amber eyes darting away from the teenager's partially dressed form, "I will return when you are, ah, less busy."

His free fingers released from the bound ball he hand worked them into and the mayor was happy to find herself with a way out of the next argument. The man had lasted two weeks in her town, and each day the prodding and questioning from him grew. He had the reasoning ask, she was the mayor, and she did know the answers to many of his questions. But there was much more than her own well being at stake; some secrets were not hers to give.

"But Mr. Rutherfod," Kaylie whined, "we need your help on a most dire problem!"

"Kaylie, Ser Rutherford has-"

"Now Ms. Trellier! I have a problem only the handsome man before us can solve!" 

The man's mouth twitched, and eyebrows knotted, "What is the problem?"

"Pink or Red? Ms. Trellier says that red is too mature for someone my age, and pink seems rather girlish, what do you think? Pink or Red?"

Guinevere's eyes rolled for Cullen's amusement, but the man didn't act as if it was at all amusing. His words faltered as his eyes darted for something else to look at. 

"This is-," with a sharp huff, the man regained his composure, "Pink. Pink." 

"Are we satisfied with pink now?" Taking the opportunity to cement the girl's answer. 

"Quite, Madame. I think a man's opinion is always needed in matters of fashion."

"You will learn to take nothing a man says at face value," chided the mayor, an eyebrow lifted in the sheriff's direction, "especially the handsome ones."

Guinevere succeeded. Cullen's face lit a bright crimson.

"Ms. Trellier, you will remain single long after I am your age!" Kaylie giggled.

"There are worse things," Guinevere muttered, before steering the conversation away, "Now, Mr. Rutherford before you leave would mind handing me another pin? Your abrupt entrance caused me to lose the one I was using."

Silently Cullen turned to the opened box, the contents of which were mixed without any separation. Expression steely as his hands endured the scrapes and pokes from the untethered objects throw into the box. Finally, he managed to grasp the thin needle, handing it over gently.

"You know there is a better way to store needles and thread?" The man flinched as the words tumbled out.

Even Kaylie looked at him quizzically. 

"I am aware, but as-"

"The bank! The bank is being robbed!" The shouts of a very pregnant teller filled the shrinking office. Feet rushed by on the graveled roads as the inflated form slowly pursued them.

Cullen was out the door in a flash, the heavy door clattering against the wall behind him. Three men rushed for their mounts, clamoring over them with reckless enthusiasm. The one who mounted first fired off the first shot, the gun startling the horse into action. It missed, but worked in distracting him as the mounted men spurred their mounts passed him. 

This chase was shortening by the moment. It was the first bit of action he had yet to see, and it would already end in failure. 

Until he spotted the mayor bravely standing the in the street, folded umbrella boldly brandished at the oncoming horses. The first horse reared, not trained to trample over a person, losing momentum at the sudden stop and falling straight back to crush the rider with it. But it wasn't the most foolish move she had yet to make. Simultaneously the mayor reached for the reigns of one horse, and her umbrella reached to snatch the other set. With luck only the maker could provide, it worked, but not without consequence. 

The mayor was drug a few feet as the horses planted their hooves into the hard ground, at least the men flew from the horses. Giving Cullen a few precious seconds to catch up to the thieves who quickly regained their barrings, scrambling for the side arms attached to them. Guinevere was on the ground, motionless, the men passing her body by as they decided it was time to fight back.

The man on the right loaded his pistol, and the second was loaded his hand fidgetting to secure the barrel. He was worried about being lucky a second and third time with bad firing. The second man's finger had graced the trigger before both cried out suddenly in pain. The mayor's umbrella smacking them hard across their calves, if he wasn't seeing things, blood followed the path of the umbrella. 

Now was not the time to double check. Instead, he aimed high grazing one shoulder and missing the other shot. Guinevere lept for the man on the left, the glint of metal betrayed the reason why the man had stopped resisting the struggling mayor.

The man on the right was down from the bullet's path that had been carved into his shoulder. And quickly Cullen had a knee planted in the center of the man's back, allowing him ample time to survey the situation. 

It appeared as if half the town had emerged now that the scuffle was over. His eyes lingered on the mayor, who tried to hide her struggle for breath. She shook, and violently. It would take little for the man under her to retaliate, but the blade emerging from the tip of the umbrella prompted him not to take such an unwise action. The usually unassuming umbrella had another much more dangerous purpose, much like the woman wielding it, he supposed. 

"That was foolish, you could have been hurt. Or worse!" Cullen found his words softening from the snarl he had planned.

Blue-green eyes looked at him steadily, the corners of her nostrils quivered, "My town. My problems. I will do whatever is necessary to keep them safe. You would be wise to never forget that, Rutherford."

The retort burned in his throat. 

Dirkx was the first one upon them, the doctor much more bold in forcing the female away from her quarry. As the blacksmith took her spot. The doctor began to harshly question the mayor. Unlike his own experience, Guinevere answered him. Only resisting by pulling herself out of his reach. Hiding her injuries as best her two hands would allow as more of the townsfolk edged up on the situation.

He wouldn't listen to any more of that private conversation. 

The mayor had not lied about the town being able to defend itself, whether it be in teamwork, or the hands of one prominent defender.


End file.
